NOVEL NEXT 117. In His Place
A sharp pain tore through Jones's arm. His ears rang so violently that it drowned out the world around him. Each pulse felt like a hammer striking his skull. His vision wavered, flashes of light, then darkness. Until he could barely tell if he was standing or falling. Coughs strained his chest. He rolled to his side, pressing his back against the slanted tiles. The thick and bitter smell of smoke filled his nose as hot embers rained across his face.
What… happened? Where's Nemo?
The thought lodged itself in his mind like a shard of glass. He squeezed his eyes shut while pressing his dirt-streaked forearm over his face. Trying to block out the truth that clawed at the edge of his thoughts. But the pain stayed like a punch that had knocked the air from his lungs.
Nemo had sacrificed himself to save him, and the realization hit harder than any wound he had suffered. His hands shook as he pressed them against the warm tiles that the flaming spheres had blown apart. Jones forced himself upright and crawled toward the wreckage of the smoldering ballista.
"No… no…" The words broke apart in his throat.
Tears blurred Jones's vision as he shoved the blackened rubble to the side. He felt the heat sear his fingertips but pushed past the pain. "Don't worry... I'll get you out."
Piece by piece, he tore at the debris. Every breath felt ragged, every moment a plea. Just a little bit more, and he'd see Nemo's face. Grinning, cursing, but alive. The sound of metal clashing against each other reached his ears, faint and far away, as if the battle belonged to another world.
There's still time. Nemo's fine. He's been through worse. Something like this wouldn't kill him—no, something like this couldn't kill him. He refused to believe it.
He clawed at the wreckage with blistered hands. But no matter how much he dug, the rubble never seemed to end. Tears slid down his ashen cheeks. Blood oozed from the open cut on the left side of his face and stung as the tears met crimson. His shoulders trembled with each shuddering breath. Yet he kept digging, shoving aside the splintered beams, raking stone with his fingertips until they burned.
"Jones…"
A soft voice called out to him.
Slowly, Jones's gaze drifted up. Standing off to the side were Liam, Luther, and the other soldiers from the Thirty-First. He saw the grief carved into their faces. Their expressions stopping him cold. They had all seen what had happened and experienced it firsthand. Their battered appearances marked their tragedy.
"I'm sorry, Jones." Liam softly said. "But… he's gone. Even if it's Nemo… for him to take a direct hit—"
"Enough…" Jones sat there, motionless.
He clenched a jagged piece of rubble as it cut into his hand. Blood dripped onto the broken clay tiles. Jones didn't need Liam to finish. He knew. The truth pressed against his shoulders as if the world had fallen on top of him. Spells that could tear through a knight's defenses had struck Nemo, and there was no surviving that.
Around them, their home was burning. Flames devoured the rooftops as black smoke choked the sky. The city's wooden pillars gave one last tortured creak before collapsing into a shower of embers. The men of the Thirty-First stood together, all but Jones, who was still on his knees. Their hearts were breaking into tiny pieces. Knowing they were powerless against the monstrosity that had done this.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
But in their time of despair, in the hollow silence that grasped their hearts, Liam cleared his throat, drawing every eye to him.
"You know…" Liam paused for a moment, catching his breath as if the words themselves might break him. He stared at Jones, then at the others. Swallowing the sadness in his heart while steadying his voice that trembled like an off-tone note on a piano.
His hands tightened around a small, worn blue prayer book. The seams barely held the cover together, yet Liam treasured it nonetheless, for it was a gift from a fallen comrade of the Thirty-First. The leather was soft from years of touch, but heavy in his grasp. Around them, the battle raged on. The slow grind of gears and the hiss of steam pressed in, yet none of them looked away. They focused on their friend.
"After Alfred… and the others died," he said the names, reciting memories as bitter as ash, "I was scared. I wanted to run, and when the Captain gave us the choice…" He broke off, drawing a ragged breath while fighting the tremor building in his chest. Barely keeping his composure as Nemo's face came to mind. Not as a memory, but as if he were standing by their side. "I almost took it. I almost left."
He held the prayer book for all of them to see, his ash-covered hands against the blue. "It wasn't until I opened this… until I read a passage… that I knew I couldn't go."
The soldiers of the Thirty-First stood in silence, staring at him.
"It told of Arcadia," Liam went on, his voice soft but clear. "At the brink of extinction, when all hope seemed lost. A man asked Solas, the God of Light… What does it mean to be brave?" He slowly exhaled, as if letting go of something he held for too long. "And Solas... stopped, gazing at the man while falling deep in thought. Finally, he answered: To be brave is to act, even when the fear remains. To embrace what holds you and move without regrets."
His voice cracked near the end, but he didn't hide it. "And you know... that one line… it made me wonder." His gaze swept over them, searching for something he couldn't name. "If I could be just a little braver… would it be enough to save our home?"
The men said nothing. They simply listened, their gazes drifting toward the towering golem that tore apart the stone streets. The sounds of steel striking steel, the shouts of dying men, the desperate roars of those still fighting—all of it pressed against their ears. Somewhere out there, men were throwing their lives away to slow down the machine. Even if it was just for a fraction of a second.
Yet up on the rooftops… the noise felt distant, swallowed by a heavy, breathless silence. Luther's eyes traced the golem's path, his brows furrowing before slowly widening in alarm.
"It's heading for the central plaza…" His voice was barely audible, fighting back the edge of despair.
Jones quietly turned to him. He gave a bitter chuckle before dropping his gaze. "What could we possibly do when even the knights failed?"
"We still have the detonation charges the saboteurs left behind," Liam pointed out. "We moved them to the inner gates in case we could use them."
Luther's eyes sharpened. "If we plant them beneath the central plaza, we can bring down the support pillars. Trap the golem for a moment. Just long enough for the knights to take it down."
"There's no telling if we'd make it in time," Jones muttered.
"No," Liam admitted, "but it's better than doing nothing. We could turn the fight, buy our people time. The sewers run straight to the plaza's water treatment area. If we pull this off, then we could cut the golem's legs out from under it."
Jones stayed where he was, slumped on his knees before the ruined ballista. His shoulders were heavy, and the others around him were already nodding, finding some spark in the idea. But his spark had already burned out. After all the fighting… part of him just wanted it to end. He had already failed too many times.
However, the sound of footsteps drew closer. In the shadow of the storm clouds, Liam stood before him and held out his hand. "Let's give it a shot," he said. "Just one more time… for Nemo."
Every part of Jones screamed to stay down. His eyes were hollow. His spirit was nothing but cold ash. He watched his friend die before him and couldn't do anything. Yet… when he met Liam's gaze, he saw no fear, no doubt, or resentment. Only the kind of determination that refused to die. Slowly, Jones reached out, his hand closing around his friend's.
With one firm pull, Liam hoisted Jones to his feet. Something inside him flickered. A fleeting flame that was small but alive. The others were making their way down towards the street, but before he joined them, Jones glanced once more at the pile of rubble where Nemo had fallen.
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
But maybe, just maybe… he could still land one good hit on the Empire's war machine after all.